Off we went after her, gathering speed—Griffiths at the helm, I standing by him, and the others down below, under the awnings, round their guns. I noticed that there was no dew on the awnings or decks—usually it was very heavy; the air, too, was extraordinarily dry, and a splash of water which fell on the deck as Percy brought my shaving water to the cabin dried in no time. Griffiths was sniffing to wind’ard. "A ’shamel’s’ coming, sir, that’s what it is—a big one, I fancy; the air’s allus like this a ’our or two before they comes." A "shamel"! I had read about a shamel—the Sailing Directions for the station was full of it: a changeable, boisterous gale from the north-west, coming when least expected, sometimes blowing with terrific force, and often lasting for five or six days; but I was too excited just then to worry about it, even when Mr. Scarlett, putting his head up through the gap in the awning, called out huskily: "Bad weather from the north-west, I fear, sir." The sun shot up from behind the Persian mountains, its face blurred and hazy. "Aye, it’s a shamel all right, afore long!" I heard Griffiths mutter. Well, if it came, it came; I did not care what happened, so long as I got alongside that dhow. In half an hour we were close enough to see that she was of about eighty tons, high in the poop, low in the bows, and very ill found. She had her big sail drawing full, and was streaking through the water. Presently she began to haul it farther and farther aft, still keeping on her course. "Ah! the breeze is backing," Griffiths muttered; "that’s another sign we’re in for it all right, sir. It’s going to be a tidy one too." We were now about a thousand yards from the dhow, and were rapidly closing. I ordered Mr. Scarlett to fire a six-pounder shell ahead of her. The little cloud of smoke spurted out from beneath the awning, and the shell burst fifty or sixty yards in front of her bows. She took not the least notice, except to ease away the big sail again, still keeping on her course to the south’ard. "The shamel’s coming, sure enough; she’s reckoning on that," Griffiths muttered under his breath. "When it comes, those chaps will carry on till they lose their mast. They have rifles, or they’d have lowered their sail. If they’re caught, it means six months’ ’chokey’ for them, besides losing the dhow, so they’re going to have a run for their money. That’s what they’re going to do." I was so excited that I could hear my heart drumming in my ears. The hardly ruffled surface of the sea now began to lose its clearness, and a little spray sprinkled the fo’c’sle, drying almost as it fell. I called down to the fo’c’sle, and Mr. Scarlett fired a second gun, whereupon the crew evidently thought it wiser to haul down their big sail. Down it came, and, as we ran alongside, a little cur of a dog, running backwards and forwards, kept jumping up on the gunwale and barking at us. We could not help laughing at its absurd fury.